


out of ashes comes a flame

by gealbhan



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ferdibert Week, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:41:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21606985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gealbhan/pseuds/gealbhan
Summary: Though he has to have seen Hubert without the gloves at some point, Ferdinand finds himself looking over out of some idiotic curiosity. Pale, scarred fingers are bared. Hubert has rolled up his sleeve, too, and something on his wrist catches Ferdinand’s attention. A mole? An ordinary birthmark? Another scar?No, Ferdinand realizes upon seeing its unnatural dark crimson hue—it can only be a soulmark. As though the universe wasn’t cruel enough, even Hubert has a soulmate. But, as Ferdinand continues to run over the mark in his mind, he realizes, too, that it is familiar in a way that makes him freeze.The mark is the same as Edelgard’s.Ferdinand has no soulmate. Hubert does, and it isn't him.They make it work anyway.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg & Hubert von Vestra, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 11
Kudos: 230





	out of ashes comes a flame

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 4 of ferdibert week: soulmates! i don't actually like most soulmate aus, so here's something a little unorthodox. this wasn't going to be very long originally, and then i decided i had to be sad about ferdinand, As You Do, so.
> 
> title from "the great unknown" by mighty oaks. enjoy!

Here are the notable marks upon Ferdinand von Aegir’s skin: An abundance of freckles all across his face, chest, and back; several moles scattered across his jaw and the back of his neck; a collection of scars, soon to be gained from the heat of battle but now only earned from incidences such as falling from a ladder and cutting his lower lip open on the lower shelf of one of the Aegir estate’s libraries.

Here is one mark he lacks: One borne from birth by everyone else, one shared with their soulmate or soulmates.

In other words, Ferdinand has no soulmate. No matter how many times Ferdinand had been examined as a child, watched like a hawk as though something might appear on his cheek while he slept, nothing had been forthcoming.

Oh, his father tries to hide it, of course. Duke Aegir drowns Ferdinand in suggestions for arranged marriages, all of which fall through for one reason or a handful. Edmund’s daughter is a shut-in; Varley’s, though it is rumored she too has no soulmate, even more so, and she makes curse dolls besides; Edelgard is out of the question. Most nobles don’t have the option of seeking out soulmates, too restricted by their duty to their bloodline. That doesn’t stop some from refusing on behalf of that anyway.

Ferdinand’s own parents are not soulmates. No one knows this save for Ferdinand and perhaps some maids. Lady Aegir (a noble herself, albeit one of smaller means than the prime minister) wears her hair long and conservative clothing that covers anywhere a soulmark could be for plausible deniability. But Ferdinand has seen the mark between her shoulders, and it does not match the mark on display above his father’s eyebrow.

“Do not speak of this to anyone, please, dear Ferdie,” his mother begs him.

“Of course I will not,” responds Ferdinand, gentle as can be. He and his mother are in this together—he would do anything for her sake. While he wants to tell her how beautiful her soulmark is, how he wishes she could have had a better life, all he says in the end is: “I promise.”

His mother, almost in tears, hugs him for it.

So Ferdinand does not speak of this nor of his own missing soulmark. It isn’t for the sake of appearances alone—while he and his father disagree on most accounts, one area in which Ferdinand will defer to Duke Aegir’s judgment is how shameful his lack of a soulmark is.

It is a lonely existence, being Ferdinand von Aegir.

*

From the moment he meets the future emperor, Hubert knows that he is to stand by her side as long as they both shall live.

First and foremost: It’s his sworn duty as the heir to House Vestra. That would be enough; even at his age, he knows what his responsibilities are, and he recognizes that he must serve as Princess Edelgard’s vassal.

But secondly, acting as reinforcement: The maroon mark on the base of the princess’ throat, visible above her collar, matches one on his wrist, which he—acting in childish exuberance he’ll soon be trained out of—tears off his glove to show to Edelgard. Her already-big eyes go wide, and she crows with as much joy as he feels.

It isn’t a given, per se, that soulmates will be romantically involved. It isn’t even a given that they’ll meet or end up friends, whether they know of their soulbond or not. The hands of fate are complicated, after all, and because two or more people have been linked together by a force no one quite understands doesn’t mean they’re _made for each other_ in the way fairytales wax about.

At age six, Hubert doesn’t know this. At age six, Hubert doesn’t understand romantic love, nor can he even say he knows what familial love is, what with a late mother he’d never known and a distant father.

What he does know is this: He would do anything for Edelgard, though they’ve only just met.

In the simple way that children do, Hubert translates this to love without thinking twice. While it would be inappropriate to hope she returns the sentiment (there are certain things she _shouldn’t_ do or feel for him, being his princess and eventual emperor), Hubert does bow in the hopes that she’ll understand.

Edelgard curtsies back. Within Hubert’s chest, a flame is fanned.

“I look forward to working with you, Lord Vestra,” says four-year-old Edelgard in the practiced way of children spoon-fed words to speak by their guardians.

“And I you, Lady Edelgard,” returns Hubert in the same tone.

Out of sight of their parents, they smile at each other, childish little grins, for they know now that they aren’t alone.

*

At home, annoying as it may be, Ferdinand can avoid the question of soulmates well enough. His parents know of the touchiness of the subject, and rarely do nobles at social functions wish to speak of anyone’s partners but their own.

At the Garreg Mach Officers Academy, however, the topic becomes inescapable.

It is reasonable, of course. Soulmates are a pressing issue at this age—and any, really, but now is when it becomes most pertinent—and people are bound to meet some of their own here. That had been the case with the very emperor and one of his consorts. In theory, Ferdinand is fine with this. Hearing other people talk about their soulmates means little to him, as the only ones whose opinions he cares for are much more private about such things.

But when the questions turn upon him, he is unsure as to what he should do.

Every time, though at first he freezes, he chooses to say, “I have not met mine yet.” It is as diplomatic and safe an answer as it is true.

While his skin bears no mark tying him to other people, Ferdinand would like to believe that there _is_ someone (or multiple someones, perhaps—he isn’t one to decide now) for him. They won’t be meant for each other in the way true soulmates are, but they will understand one another like fictional couples always seem to. They will care for each other not out of obligation but genuine respect and trust. They will support each other through thick and thin.

Perhaps the noble thing is not to defy the Goddess’ holy plans, but perhaps everyone else has the wrong idea about what is noble and just—and what the Goddess’ plans _are_.

After all, being bound to another from birth is one thing.

But people choosing to stand by each other’s sides because they endeavor to understand and work with one another, putting in the work necessary to make their relationship work without divine intervention? That is another, and however frightening the prospect is, Ferdinand strives toward it. He never elaborates, though, aside from the pity-inspiring dismissal.

Everyone frowns and offers their condolences (which Ferdinand always accepts with a smile), but in the end, they move on. Ferdinand is content with this existence. His life is still lonely, but he is not quite _alone_.

Once, he overhears Claude asking Edelgard of all people about her soulmate. Most would not dare to ask the future Emperor of Adrestia such a thing, but Claude von Riegan is a special sort. Ferdinand does know of Edelgard’s soulmark—the collar of her uniform covers it now, but he’d seen it many times as a child, though never close enough to comprehend more than the basic shape. Up until this point, it’s never been a particular source of jealousy for him. Marks and soulmates are different.

He isn’t expecting her, however, to say: “Yes, I’ve already met my soulmate. There’s only one. We’re rather close, but we certainly aren’t together in the romantic sense of the word.”

Ears ringing, Ferdinand stops listening and walks away. Eavesdropping is shameful behavior, unbecoming of him, he tells himself.

But he mulls over the new information for the rest of the week. (The professor has to tap him on the head with a training sword when he zones out mid-lecture.) Even if their relationship is platonic, as Edelgard says, she still has a soulmate she’s acquainted with. However petty, Ferdinand finds himself resentful that Edelgard has him beat in yet another area—and the only one in which he cannot even attempt to compete with her.

He also cannot begin to guess at whom Edelgard’s soulmate could _be_. Are they someone Ferdinand knows? Someone at the monastery? Had she only met them here?

Given how little he’d overheard, he has no clue. The fact that Edelgard’s soulmate isn’t in a romantic relationship with her also means that he won’t be able to judge off of her behavior with anyone. Ferdinand resigns himself to this mystery for now but keeps it at the back of his mind.

Not long after this, he’s assigned to stable duty with Hubert. Because the professor has it out for him.

The stable duty itself starts off ordinary. Ferdinand and Hubert argue over something ultimately insignificant but get to their work, ignoring each other while doing independent work as best as they can. But before long, Hubert is forced to rid himself of a glove when his arm is submerged up to the elbow in a stack of hay damp with fluids Ferdinand dare not think too much about. (Which is perhaps a _little_ Ferdinand’s fault, as attested to by the glares Hubert gives over his shoulder. He’ll insist that Hubert had started it, though.)

Though he has to have seen him without the gloves at some point, Ferdinand finds himself looking over out of some idiotic curiosity. Pale, scarred fingers are bared. Hubert has rolled up his sleeve, too, and something on his wrist catches Ferdinand’s attention. A mole? An ordinary birthmark? Another scar?

No, Ferdinand realizes upon seeing its unnatural dark crimson hue—it can only be a soulmark. As though the universe wasn’t cruel enough, even _Hubert_ has a soulmate. But, as Ferdinand continues to run over the mark in his mind, he realizes, too, that it is familiar in a way that makes him freeze.

The mark is the same as Edelgard’s. Edelgard’s soulmate, platonic but existent and known nonetheless, is none other than—

“Is something the matter?” comes Hubert’s sneering voice, and Ferdinand snaps back to reality. “You look as slack-jawed as one of your beloved horses. Stupid creatures, really.”

Though his face flushes and his hand curls into a fist at the low dig (quite weak for Hubert), Ferdinand can only muster up the strength to say, “Your wrist.”

“My—” Hubert’s face goes even paler than its usual hue. He turns his back on Ferdinand and slides his wet sleeve back down almost to his fingers. “You saw nothing,” he says, clean but stiff. “If you imply to anyone that you did, it will surely be your end.”

Despite himself, Ferdinand is somewhat disappointed by this turn of events. “All right,” he brings himself to say, tone making his displeasure clear.

Another soulmark he has to hide. Another secret he is privy to and would have no intentions of speaking of to anyone else even if he had not been expressly warned not to.

Hubert nods and returns to his own work, silent and rigid in posture. They only speak to each other again when they’re brought before the professor to follow up on the chore.

When Ferdinand thinks, later, about the soulmark tying Edelgard and Hubert together, his face burns.

He puts it out of his mind.

*

Hubert’s feelings for Edelgard never develop into something other than that fierce and undying loyalty.

Upon the brink of puberty and beyond, he’d almost expected them to, if only due to all of the romantic fiction surrounding soulbonds, but his affection remains platonic. It strengthens as he grows to understand Edelgard as a person, but in the end, she is his friend and liege. Nothing more and nothing less.

In fact, Hubert feels that regarding Edelgard in a romantic light would be lesser than their existing relationship (even putting aside the disrespect with regards to their respective positions). He’s never understood the notion that romance is somehow _more_ than friendship. Surely they’re different relationships—though built from the same ground—and therefore not comparable.

He doesn’t think he would feel any different even if he had been in a romantic relationship. When he entertains the possibility of any romantic partners in his future, no faces come to mind—he is too focused on Edelgard to consider the concept often and too distrusting of his classmates that he refuses to consider them even as friends.

Among themselves, his classmates often talk about soulmates. In wonder, in anticipation, in fear, in all of the above at once. Funny, how such trivial matters are so important to some.

Hubert chooses to excuse himself from these discussions. It’s no one’s concern but his, and uncomfortable questions can come of the topic. He isn’t called on it, likely because he frightens most people (though as time goes on, the only one among the Black Eagles to outright flee from him is Bernadetta, who flees from most people. Beforehand, notable exceptions had been Ferdinand, who’s known him for too long and is often too busy arguing with him, and Linhardt, who’s too lazy to so much as blink at Hubert’s intimidation tactics).

Among Edelgard’s goals, voiced to Hubert alone, is the desire for a society unbound by the pressure of soulmates. While the concept has not had such an impact as Crests and nobility, everyone has heard tales of people who have gone without romances they’ve desired their entire lives due to the promise of someone made for them, for whom they can’t sully themselves. Of others doomed to spend their lives with people they cannot stand because they’re expected to spend them with their soulmates. Of those who perhaps have no soulmate, few and far between as they may be.

In a world where birth has no impact on a person’s life, it only makes sense that such arbitrary restrictions on people’s partners and companions should also be left behind. Perhaps the marks themselves will fade over the years as the Goddess’ will changes to match that of the people.

When Edelgard expresses such thoughts to Hubert, he finds himself smiling.

“That sounds like a wonderful world, Lady Edelgard.” He plants a hand over his chest and bows. “And I, for one, am more than willing to fight for it.”

“I know, Hubert,” is her reply, quiet but firm. “Let us only hope that everyone else is as well.”

(To his complete and utter shock, something he’s ashamed to admit he’s capable of feeling, they _are_. The Black Eagles follow Edelgard into the war she started and, by the Goddess, is going to finish. They stand by Edelgard, Hubert, and the professor, and that alone means more than anyone can put into words.

While Hubert still finds the very prospect of prioritizing anyone over Edelgard ridiculous, his trust—however hesitantly—expands to the Black Eagle Strike Force. He opens himself up to friendship and, in the process, whatever else may come of it.

If, as the years pass, he finds his eyes drawn to one among their number above anyone else, that’s his business and his alone.)

*

Five years is a long time. Long enough that tensions have mellowed, people have changed, and as a result, relationships have shifted too. Long enough that Ferdinand is able to enjoy tea—well, _he_ has tea; the other end of the table is not so inclined, though even more surprising than this development is how comfortable Ferdinand has grown with the once-repulsive smell of coffee—with, of all people, Hubert.

The conversation has trailed off, a peaceful respite to their intense discussion, but Ferdinand cannot help himself from reviving it—

“May I see your soulmark, Hubert?”

Hubert looks outright flabbergasted by the question. A justified reaction—it is not a question Ferdinand has even thought of asking until this moment, having been told in no uncertain terms to never speak of Hubert’s soulmark or whom it bonded him to. They’ve never so much as broached the general topic of soulmates in a group setting. But Ferdinand can tamp down his curiosity no longer.

With a _click_ of glass against glass, Hubert sets his coffee cup down. “Why?”

“I was simply thinking about it,” says Ferdinand with a casual shrug, though the rush of his heartbeat is anything but. “You are not required to show me—it is _your_ soulmark, and I do recall how you reacted when last I happened to see it—” Hubert’s face darkens, and Ferdinand hastens to keep talking “—but, well, I suppose it would be interesting.”

“You’re as confusingly sentimental as ever,” says Hubert, as though it isn’t him who most often lapses into sentimentality. As though he isn’t pulling off his glove and pushing back his sleeve even as he speaks.

Ferdinand gives a noncommittal hum instead of pointing it out. He wouldn’t want to lose this benevolent offer.

Without taking an instant to think twice, Ferdinand reaches out to take Hubert’s forearm and pull it toward him as best he can across the table. A sharp intake of breath sounds opposite him. Ferdinand pays it no heed—he only looks for the familiar dark mark on Hubert’s wrist and presses his thumb to it.

His touch is not timid, surprising even him, but it is tender and open. He’s never had the opportunity to touch a soulmark before, and it’s odd how it doesn’t feel any different from any other superficial mark, aside from being a touch warmer than the surrounding cold skin. It’s flat and somewhat dry (as per the rest of Hubert’s skin). No difference when it comes to texture—if Ferdinand weren’t looking right at it, he wouldn’t even know there was something under his thumb. Perhaps soulmarks feel more significant to their owners.

The shape, however, is what most interests Ferdinand. He slides his thumb aside but keeps it on Hubert’s wrist. “It is… like a flame,” he says with faint awe.

“Really?” Hubert’s voice is tight, as though his breathing is restricted. “I’ve always thought it looked more like a dagger.”

They both stare at the mark, frowning in consideration, until to Ferdinand it looks like nothing at all.

“It is as subjective as reading tea leaves, I suppose. I have never understood that particular art of divination,” says Ferdinand, shaking his head. “But, all in all, it should only matter what soulmarks mean to the people who have them. What does Edelgard think it looks like?”

He expects Hubert’s face to contort into a grimace at the mention of Edelgard, but instead a tense line in his forehead smooths out. It returns as soon as he speaks again: “I don’t believe I’ve ever asked, to be frank.”

“Hmm. Perhaps you should, if only to settle this debate.” Ferdinand extracts his hand from Hubert’s wrist and gives Hubert’s outstretched hand a gentle pat as he sets his own back in his lap. “Thank you for sharing such a thing with me,” he adds, lowering his head. “I realize it was an odd request, to say the least—not to mention personal. But I must thank you for indulging me. I am satisfied now.”

“Right.” Hubert seems to notice his arm is still hanging limply over the table and jerks it back to his side as though he’s been scalded by hot tea. He hesitates to pull his glove back on.

Were it another day, somewhere in the distant future they are all fighting for, Ferdinand would not stand for that. He’d ask Hubert to free his other hand of its glove, even, and take both hands in his, hoping that simple action—were Hubert to agree, of course—would give him all the courage he needed to raise the question of (just the thought of the word makes him flush) courtship.

But there is no time for such feelings in wartime, and so he swallows them down with his next sip of tea.

*

A new sun rises on the Garreg Mach Monastery.

Hubert had half-expected an assassination attempt on either him or Edelgard in the night, whether from Those Who Slither in the Dark (now that the “enemy of my enemy” policy is no longer in effect) or the former allies of the Church. But when he awakens, the first beams of light are streaming in through his window. His hand is still curled around the dagger under his pillow, and his free hand alight with dark magic that he soon dismisses. He’s halfway through dressing so he can meet with the professor and Edelgard to discuss strategies when he remembers—

They’d won.

The cost had been grievous, of course, and nothing is over yet. Soon it will be time for the real fight—the war of the shadows, the bloody battle behind the scenes of the new Fódlan.

But for now, with the decisive battle of the days past, they can relax as best any of them can. It’s difficult to readjust after years of ceaseless bloodshed and strife, but Hubert will see to it that it isn’t impossible—not for him, and not for any of Edelgard’s allies.

Hubert opens his curtains. While he will soon take to operating almost exclusively in the shadows, he sees no reason to run from the light now. The dawn is still breaking, and the slow-rising sun reminds Hubert of vibrant hair and a brilliant smile rather than the other way around.

“How ridiculous,” he murmurs.

Before he can get too caught up in his thoughts, a firm knock sounds at his door. Hubert turns to open it. Unsurprisingly, Edelgard is standing outside, fully dressed—save for her headpiece, which she’s gone without in favor of pulling her hair into a simple side ponytail—and with her arms folded behind her back.

He steps into a bow. “Your Majesty,” he says, voice low so as not to disturb anyone else still asleep. This once, he won’t guilt them over sleeping in. They’ve earned their rest. “What do you require of me?”

“Good morning, Hubert,” says Edelgard, returning his bow with one of her own. “I’m sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I was hoping you would join me on a walk.”

Hubert can’t help from glancing at the other doors down the hall even as he says, “I see no reason to decline.”

When he looks back at her, Edelgard is smiling, and his cheeks fill with heat. He pulls his cloak on and steps outside before she can say anything. Because he _could_ stand to be more relaxed in the wake of their victory (hollow as it may seem when there is still another entire war to fight) doesn’t mean he _will_.

By the time Edelgard speaks, they’ve walked halfway across the monastery grounds, still dark and cold. Hubert isn’t willing to disturb the peace. It seems that Edelgard isn’t either—she only makes so much as a sound when they see a family of birds perched atop a roof or flowers and moss growing through the cracks in the ground. Little signs of life in a world so disturbed by war and death.

Finally, Edelgard stops on the cusp of the marketplace. Hubert halts behind her. He always walks a few paces back so he’s able to watch and defend her back—it’s a habit he’ll only cling to tighter now.

“I feel as though I should mention that I asked you on this walk as a friend and equal, Hubert,” says Edelgard, looking back at him. “Not as a subordinate or fellow soldier. So you can stop looking so uncomfortable.”

Being told to stop looking uncomfortable doesn’t often help someone actually stop looking uncomfortable. Hubert is no exception to this. He tries, he does, because it’s just short of a command, but his shoulders stay tight and his jaw refuses to slacken. It feels like it’s been clenched for five years straight—and it may as well have been. “Apologies, Your Majesty.”

Edelgard shakes her head, though she seems somewhat amused. “Very well. Perhaps we should discuss something relaxing, then? Like, say,” she says so casually that Hubert’s hackles rise, “what are you going to do about your relationship with Ferdinand?”

“This is the opposite of relaxing, Your Majesty,” says Hubert through his teeth. “Eating concrete would be more relaxing.”

“Oh?” The determination in Edelgard’s gaze doubles. “But it’s relaxing to me. Far more so than you promising intimidation upon whomever _I_ may choose as a romantic partner now that I have the option.”

Hubert raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t heard of any romantic inclinations on your behalf. _Should_ I begin dissuading any suitors?”

“You shall absolutely not do anything of the sort.” Edelgard’s eyes are stern, and though it displeases him, Hubert nods with a grim frown. His eyebrows raise again when Edelgard averts her gaze. “But. Ah. Would you happen to know what sort of flowers might be appropriate for someone you wish to court? I know you asked the professor to collect some during the war, so—”

“I know little about flowers, personally. I imagine it would depend on the person to be receiving them, though I’ve heard red roses are suitably romantic.” Hubert watches, bemused, as Edelgard nods and mouths _red roses_ to herself. “Your Majesty, are you—”

“No questions, please,” says Edelgard, sharp, and again Hubert nods, pledging to himself to follow up on this later. “Back to you. Truly, have you even made your intentions clear? Suggested anything in that direction?”

“Something like that,” says Hubert, tugging at his collar, but he falters under the heat of Edelgard’s gaze. “Well. Perhaps I have been a tad too subtle, but—”

“Of course you have.” Edelgard rolls her eyes. A petty gesture, speaking to how relaxing this topic really is for her. “Hubert, you and I both know Ferdinand needs something more blatant than your shadowy machinations. Don’t make me order you to have an honest conversation with him,” she adds, waving a finger.

Hubert blanches at the thought. Edelgard interfering in his romantic life as a friend is awful enough—as an emperor, it’s unthinkable, and far below her station besides. “That won’t be necessary, Your Majesty.” His voice _does not_ crack, he tells himself.

Edelgard laughs—bright, happy, a sound Hubert hasn’t heard from her since she was very young. “Worry not, Hubert. That was a joke.”

“Oh, good,” says Hubert, dry. The reassurance does little to calm him, not least because mischief remains in her eyes.

It falls away, though, as Edelgard sighs and folds her arms. “I do love you, Hubert,” she says in a much more serious tone, voice as soft as the breeze stirring her hair and cape. “You are my dearest friend and companion—you may as well be the only family I have left. And I wish for you to have all of the happiness you deserve.”

Hubert’s mouth dries. He isn’t often left stunned, let alone into silence, but now he finds himself only staring at Edelgard with his eyes wide and hands shaking where they sit behind his back. He’d known, to some extent, that of course Edelgard cared for him as wholeheartedly as he’d devoted himself to her.

Knowing something and hearing it, however, are two different things. And outright hearing that his emperor loves him is… an odd feeling.

Hubert bows his head. “I know, Your Majesty.”

“Hubert,” says Edelgard, chiding but not harsh. “Just this once, can you not call me _Edelgard_? Or—” She sighs. “If you wish, you’re more than welcome to address me as _El_. Don’t make me turn that into an order, either.”

“I—” He almost chokes on his tongue. Saying something is another thing altogether, and eloquent admissions of affection are far from his realm of comfort. Hubert closes his eyes and says, stiff but not forced, “I love you too, El.”

His instinct is to apologize for his indiscretion, addressing the emperor so casually and with such a trivial string of words, but he bites his tongue and lets the truth sit there. After all, while it isn’t in the way idealized by fairytales and society alike, Hubert _does_ love Edelgard.

He’s rewarded with a calm smile and a pat on the shoulder. The unexpected touch sets him even more off-kilter than Edelgard’s words. Rare, too, are instances of physical contact between them. They will fight at each other’s sides and express their loyalty in terms of service and trust, but as a general rule, touch is something even more foreign to Hubert.

Unbidden, he thinks of warm fingers curled around his cold wrist, a thumb pressed into the mark there, that mark leaving and Hubert—unintentional but thankfully unnoticed—leaning forward to chase the sensation.

“Thank you,” says Edelgard, jarring him from his thoughts. How embarrassing, not only to recall that moment with such clarity but to do so before her. “Now please, go and speak with our dear prime minister.”

“Dear indeed.” It’s said under his breath, but from how Edelgard’s smile widens, Hubert assumes she’s heard anyway. He covers his embarrassment with a bow. True to her word, Edelgard’s request hadn’t been an order, but he responds as though she had issued one: “Very well. Do you know where he is now? Is he even awake?”

“You’re the spymaster here,” Edelgard tells him. “Figure it out.”

Left only with that enigmatic advice, Hubert inclines his head and makes to leave. Halfway through turning, he recalls a conversation half-forgotten and faces Edelgard again.

“Your Majesty—” he gestures to his throat “—what do you think our soulmark looks like?”

“What do I—?” Edelgard cuts herself off. She clutches her chin in consideration, frowning. “I can’t say I’ve ever given it much thought. There have been much more important things on my mind, especially as of late. But… as a child, I believe I thought it looked rather like the head of a cat.”

Hubert stares. “A cat.”

“Did I not say I was very young at the time?” says Edelgard, flushing. “Nowadays, however, its appearance means little to me—I encourage you to see it as whatever you so wish. Now begone with you.” She waves a hand, but she’s hiding a smile behind the other.

With that settled, Hubert bows once more and leaves for real.

It doesn’t take him long to find Ferdinand, though no conscious thought is involved in the matter. The first place he checks is—despite or perhaps because of the irony in it—is the dilapidated cathedral, to the gates of which he warps as soon as he’s out of Edelgard’s sight. Though he finds no one inside, Hubert strolls the perimeter. As expected, Ferdinand is seated on the raised railing outside, torso twisted away from Hubert to face the foggy sky as his sunlit hair flows in the wind.

Hubert stands still for a moment to simply observe. Then, with as little fanfare as he ever employs, he steps up behind Ferdinand and clears his throat.

Though it’s a small sound, liable to be lost in the wind, it makes Ferdinand turn with a start. “Ah, Hubert,” he says, a bright smile crossing his face. “Lovely weather, is it not? Though on the chilly side so far.”

Rather than any sort of coherent or polite response, Hubert says only, “Her Majesty thinks our soulmate looks like a cat.”

Ferdinand seems to not know what to do with that. “A _cat_?”

“A cat,” confirms Hubert, and against his own will, he finds himself cracking a smile and bursting into wheezing laughter. He sinks onto the bench for support, shoulder jostling Ferdinand’s. “Lady Edelgard, the Adrestian Emperor, thinks her soulmark depicts a cat. Or rather, she did at one point in her childhood—she said she didn’t particularly care now.”

Ferdinand’s eyes glaze over somewhat as he stares forward, the sun illuminating him from behind, casting its amber glow across the waves of his hair and the angular lines of his face. “A cat,” he says once more, mournful, and Hubert draws his eyes away with some difficulty. Ferdinand, none the wiser, shakes his head. “Well, I suppose there is no accounting for taste, but this once I must defer to Edelgard’s judgment. Personally, however, I still wish to think of it as a flame.”

“Then a flame it shall be,” says Hubert, diplomatic.

It makes Ferdinand’s smile return. “So you will encourage me to have my own opinion now? Years ago, we would have argued over this and not spoken until the professor required it of us for the sake of a mission.”

“Years ago,” returns Hubert, “you would have marched straight to Lady Edelgard and challenged her to a duel right then and there over the slight.”

“Years ago, I would not have so much as acknowledged your soulmark.” Ferdinand lowers his head. The breeze picks up, stirring his long hair around his face, and he gathers it back into its rightful place with a reedy laugh. “Now that I have the time, I ought to cut it, no?”

“You needn’t do that,” says Hubert quickly—far too much so. Ferdinand turns to him with no shortage of shock, and Hubert clears his throat. “I, for one, quite like your hair. Of course, if it is truly that much of a hassle—”

“No—I, too, have grown to like it,” says Ferdinand slowly. “However difficult it is sometimes, I suppose I have the time to properly maintain it now.”

Hubert wets his lips, shuffling with discomfort. He can think of nothing to say to that, so he returns to their previous thread of conversation: “I suppose it doesn’t matter much what anyone thinks my and Her Majesty’s soulmark looks like anymore. Even ourselves.”

“Oh? And why is that?”

“Are you not familiar with Her Majesty’s plans with regards to the future of soulbonds?” From Ferdinand’s blank stare, either he doesn’t or he’s playing dumb (and not very well, given the smile he can’t quite keep down). Hubert sighs with forced exasperation. “While it is less of a priority than the deeply-entrenched governmental systems she’s working to dismantle, she’s also hoping to change expectations surrounding soulmates and what relationships they supposedly should have.”

“I have heard one or two things about this,” admits Ferdinand, eyes gleaming. “And I have agreed to help Edelgard with her policies on that matter.”

Hubert is left blinking in surprise. “Why would you do that?”

“For one, I am her prime minister.” Ferdinand taps his fingers on the bench beside him, nervous in a way Hubert’s only seen him be once before—and that had been in a different context, holding coffee against his chest and flushing. “For another, I have personal experience in the matter.”

“Doesn’t everyone,” says Hubert, mild, not a question but not a full statement either.

“Perhaps. But I suspect my experience is a tad more… unusual than the average person chained by fate.”

He’s stalling. Badly, at that. “For the love of the Saints,” says Hubert, not an oft-used phrase of his, “spit out whatever it is you’re trying to say already.”

“Very well,” says Ferdinand, voice higher than usual. “I—I have no soulmate. Not even a single one.”

Hubert had been expecting a number of things, all soulmate-related (chief among them the revelation that Ferdinand had discovered his soulmate in wartime), but this had not been among them. He had long suspected that such people existed, but—

“How is that possible?”

“I know not,” says Ferdinand. “I was simply born without a soulmark.”

“You’re… quite certain?”

Ferdinand turns to fix him with a flat look. “I would hope that I would notice,” he says, tone withering but with a bit of hurt beneath. “After all, it is my body.”

“Of course,” says Hubert hastily, “I didn’t mean to imply—” He hides his embarrassment behind a cough. “Well, it matters not. That is—something of a relief to hear, in fact.”

“Oh? It is a relief to hear that I spent most of my adolescence ashamed and despairing because I felt so adrift among my peers?” At the horrified expression that must cross Hubert’s face, Ferdinand offers a weak smile. “Sorry, sorry. That was a—ill-timed, I must admit—joke. At least in part.”

The slight shift of Ferdinand’s tone into something more somber is something that must be brought up again later, but for now Hubert only rubs his face with a hand. Disgustingly, sweat is dripping through the fabric of his glove.

“I am sorry you had to go through that,” he says, uncomfortably earnest, and Ferdinand’s expression splinters for it. “But what I meant is—I don’t expect this to change either of our pasts, but I came here to ask you something. I—” And now it’s him looking for any possible way to stall, though he knows as well as anyone that this conversation is very belated. He settles his hands on his knees to hide how much they’re shaking. “Ferdinand.”

A couple of blinks. “Yes?”

“I—” Hubert adjusts his collar, which feels now as though it’s choking him. “I wished to ask if it would be all right—if I had your permission to—if I could, well—court you.”

The words come out in a rush, a sloppy imprecision far from becoming of Hubert, and as muddled as they are, it takes a moment for the confusion to clear from Ferdinand’s brow. When it does, he blinks with wide, glassy eyes.

“ _Oh,”_ he gasps out.

“Ah,” says Hubert. His hands twitch to wipe the tears now trickling down Ferdinand’s cheeks, but the fact that Ferdinand is crying to begin with makes that notion inadvisable. He wrings them in his lap instead. “Forgive me—I know it is too soon, and simply because you have no soulmate doesn’t mean that you’re interested, but I—”

“No, that is not—” Ferdinand bites his lip, face almost as red as his hair. He gives a wet laugh and shakes his head. Before he speaks again, he takes a deep breath, clearing some of his tears, and reaches for Hubert’s wrist to stop him from leaving—it doesn’t escape Hubert’s notice that it’s the arm he bears his soulmark on. “I would—I would be delighted by such a thing. In fact, I had been planning on asking _you_ sometime in the near future. You absolutely have my permission.”

As soon as he, in turn, processes that, Hubert feels as though all of the breath has been punched out of him. “Oh,” he says, ducking his head to hide his smile.

He doesn’t manage to do so very well. Ferdinand huffs out a still-damp laugh. Then—cautious yet firm, ardent boldness returned despite the drying tears—Ferdinand moves his hand to take Hubert’s hand in his, kindly ignoring (or not even noticing) the sharp inhale it draws from Hubert. When he’s able to breathe at a normal rate again, Hubert returns the tight grip.

They sit together and wait in silence as the sun continues to rise over Fódlan.

The threads of fate snap and flutter to the ground, unnecessary and unwanted.

**Author's Note:**

> this was weird to write because i had no idea where i was going with it for at least half of the damn fic and then edelgard and hubert talked for like 2k words longer than i intended them to, and now i've gotten too into the worldbuilding and want to write either an edelthea or berniegard follow-up. that... might not happen, given how swamped i already am, but who knows, maybe my drive for more wlw content will overpower everything else!
> 
> anyway, thanks so much for reading! if you have time to spare, comments & kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
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